


Ascending Heaven

by electricblueninja



Series: The Five Love Languages [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Porn, Smut, casdean - Freeform, like...just smut this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: Dean experiences a moment's grace.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: The Five Love Languages [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988281
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Ascending Heaven

I shouldn't have invited him in. I should _not_ have invited him in. I am _not_ a twelve-year-old girl. I should _not_ have butterflies.

Actually--forget butterflies. I feel like I've got a goddamn tornado in my stomach.

"It's a nice cabin, Dean," says Cas from behind me.

"Of course it is." Hell yes, it's a nice cabin. Giant comfy bed. Memory foam pillows. Awesome fireplace. Little kitchen along half of one wall. And a separate bathroom, with a big old claw-foot bath and shower, too. I set it up myself--not that I get to come out here much.

I briefly consider just having another beer, but beer isn't enough to settle my nerves right now. Not in this crazy lucid dream I'm having. That thing he said...well, he said it less than five minutes ago, but I already forgot how it sounded. I reach for it on my mind and find nothing. And my brain says _Good, stay gone_ , but there's another, deeper part of me that aches to hear it again. 

I take out two glasses and fill each with a generous pour of whisky.

"Ice?"

"No, thank you."

It's not exactly a big room, but Cas stands in the middle of it, away from me. Trying to give me space? I don't know. I feel nauseous.

"Take your coat off and sit down, will you?" I meant to say it nicely, you know, but it comes out a little harsh. Still, Cas doesn't seem to take it personally: he simply does as I ask, hanging up his coat on one of the hooks by the door, then perching awkwardly on the edge of one of the armchairs by the fireplace.

The sun is starting to drop behind the mountains now, and it's cool and dark in here. I go over to put the whisky glasses on the coffee table, then squeeze past Cas to get to the fireplace.

The old pot-bellied stove is something I found in a junkyard in the nearest town. It's old: the kind of thing rich people would probably spend a bucketload on if someone took the time to put in a little bit of elbow grease and slapped on a several-hundred dollar price tag. Not that hard to fix up, either, but I guess most people don't bother.

I light a match. The flame catches quickly on the kindling, crackling to life, and the door groans on its ancient metal hinges as I push it shut, the flames multiplying and licking at the glass.

The hurricane in my gut hasn't settled enough for me to sit down yet, so I make my way around the little room closing curtains. It's too early in the season to snow this close to the lake, but there was rain forecast on the radio, maybe a storm overnight, and heavy frost by morning, so might as well try to keep the place warm.

But once I've closed us into the dim, firelit warmth of the room, I've run out of excuses to keep my distance.

I go over to the chair across from Cas, sit down, and pick up my drink.

"I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable, Dean," Cas ventures gently. "I know it was selfish of me to come here like this. But you wouldn't answer my texts or my calls, and I was concerned."

"I told you I was fine." 

Why am I like this? Why do I say that, when what I mean is 'I'm glad you came', but also 'having you here scares the ever-loving crap out of me', and 'tell me you love me again', but also 'I don't deserve you'?

"You sent a two-word text, Dean. Over a week ago. And then all of your phones went dead."

"Whatever." I scoff into my whisky. "Cas, you didn't seriously come all this way to check up on me, did you?"

Cas narrows his eyes at me. "Actually," he says, "I did."

His suit rustles as he leans forward, looking at me intently in a way that makes my heart quake. 

"Is it so hard to believe that you matter to someone, Dean?"

I feel like I might throw up. That twister in my stomach is sending shrapnel and debris all over the goddamn place. "Matter? Sure, maybe. But...but that _other_ thing--Cas, I--"

He swirls the whisky in his glass, his brow furrowing a little. "Yes. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. I should not have said it. I felt that you should know, but I did not mean any harm. And I do not want to lose you. If it's not a feeling you return, I--"

"I didn't say that." I don't expect to hear myself interrupt him. But it's true. I didn't say that. I wouldn't. I might be a coward, but Cas is...well, it's Cas. 

I clear my throat. I've got things to say, before my head interferes and rounds up all the emotions that are leaking out of the dark corners where I've been keeping them.

"Cas, I've...You're my only friend. But it's not just that. Look, I still don't know the answer to that thing you asked about. I don't _know_ about how...how it works between friends. But I--"

_Take the risk, Dean. Look at how he looks at you, you frigging_ idiot _. Give it a chance. Give_ him _a chance._

"You said...you said outside that there was...something you wanted to do."

He swallows, and I realise for the first time that he might be just as nervous as I am. "Yes. I said wanted to kiss you."

"And now? Do you...do you still want to?"

"Would that be alright with you?"

I nod slowly, and he rises from his armchair to kneel before me, gently taking my whisky glass from my hand.

His palms cup my cheeks, and he presses gentle lips against mine, and it feels like every atom in me starts to...to _resonate_ with him. It's not like the other kiss, outside. This time, I am ready, and I am willing. His...his...grace, I suppose, envelops me; it settles the storm inside me. There is calm, and there is peace, and there is his soft mouth, and his rough stubble, and his warm skin.

By the time he pulls away, I'm shaking for an entirely different reason than before. So is he. His slacks are more, uh, revealing than my jeans, and I don't--I'm not--I can't think right. I'm in pretty much the same condition as him. Maybe worse. He takes one of my hands, and guides the back of my fingers over his scruffy cheek before pressing his lips to my knuckles, his blue eyes shifting back up to lock with mine as my thumb rests against his lower lip. 

Some weird instinct takes over, and I push my thumb against his lips. Just to see what happens. 

Whatever love language I'm speaking, he understands it; his teeth graze my thumb pad, and his eyes close as his tongue folds around my finger; a slight hollowing of the cheeks as he sucks me in for one long, warm, wet moment. Then it's over, but his blue eyes are fixed on mine again.

"Dean," he says, his voice thick and heavy, "many years ago, you said something to me. I've been thinking about it ever since." 

Any resistance I have left evaporates at that point. I know exactly which thing he's referring to, and the thought has my cock straining against my jeans. 

I'm only human. 

Pathetically, hornily human. 

I nod again, licking my dry lips and shifting back into the armchair. I'm too ashamed to speak, but Cas just smiles at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly as he unbuttons and unzips my pants. He only pulls my underwear down enough to let little Dean make his leap to freedom.

I'm hard. _Very_ hard.

The tip of my dick is crimson, and the lust is starting to make me feel lightheaded, but Cas is just blue eyes and elegant fingers--

"God, _yes--_ "

\--and soft lips, and then the slick, wet interior of his mouth, and at first, his lips are first loose--

" _Cas_ \--"

\--then _tight_ , then moving, down, down; he's dropping his head and flattening his tongue and drawing me in--

"Sweet Jesus _\--Cas_ \--"

\--deep. God, so deep. It's like his throat is beckoning to me. His hands are heavy as he pushes them roughly up my thighs to slide his fingers through my belt-loops, pulling my hips forward.

He hums, a guttural, animalistic sound, as my fingers find purchase in his hair, and I can hear myself panting; moaning; begging; _pleading_ with him not to stop; please, please, _more, faster_ ; but he is patient; he will not be rushed; he has me pinned down and at his mercy and he sucks me off, his throat tight, right up until I try to warn him with my hands and words that I'm gonna cum, and cum _hard_ , but instead of pulling back, his answer is to groan, pull me closer and _suck harder_ , and I'm--

Gone. I'm gone. 

I'm cumming down his throat, and he just takes it, holding me steady as my hips buck and my cock twitches and I wonder if I'm actually having a really obscene wet dream, because no way can he _do_ that, no one can--

My body convulses violently, which downgrades to trembling as the fireworks recede.

Slowly, gently, his brow furrowed, Cas holds me firm against the chair and draws his head back, his lips red and his mouth slick and messy with spit.

He sighs, resting his chin on my thigh to gaze up at me, his blue eyes hazy.

"Did I do it right?" he asks, voice hoarse, smiling faintly.

I fully intend to reply with actual words, but I don't _have_ any at my disposal, so I can only whimper my affirmative. 

I have never been rendered speechless by a blowjob before.

Cas strokes my thigh lazily until I get enough upstairs-brain function back to speak, and even then, all I can say is "How...?"

He blinks lazily as he processes the question, his face flushed and his hand still stroking my thigh. 

"I don't _need_ air, Dean," he murmurs, matter-of-factly. "I'm an angel, remember?"


End file.
